


Can't Move On

by peteor



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Post-Break Up, Sex To Fill The Void, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 10:36:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11079819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peteor/pseuds/peteor
Summary: He’s angry, Church can tell. He’s angry, and hurt, and probably hates Church for asking him here. Church can tell in the way he grips his hips, pinning him to the wall hard enough that Church knows he’s going to bruise. In the way Wash breathes through his teeth whenever he pulls back to catch his breath.In the way he, when Church moans again, nibbles at Church’s ear and says, “Well, I see you haven’t learned to shut up.”And maybe Church is angry, but it’s more likely Church is desperate, when he breathes, “You know you love it.”





	Can't Move On

**Author's Note:**

> found this fossil buried deep in my google docs. i don't understand how 'sex to fill the void' isn't an auto-fill Ao3 tag. quite frankly, i'm disappointed in the lot of you.
> 
> anyway, i hope you enjoy this as much as i do

**Two months.**

They say alcohol gives you courage, but Church feels like a coward as he sends the text.

_ Come over _ .

He’s got tens of women and men alike to call when he wants to have a good time, but that’s just it. He doesn’t want to have a good time, tonight. He wants to hurt. He wants to lose himself in a bittersweet moment. He wants to  _ feel _ something other than the burn of cheap whiskey down his throat.

He wants to remember.

There’s a knock at his door and he sways when he stands. He doesn’t look through the peephole. He knows who it is.

When he pulls the door open, he’s sadistically pleased to see the wrecked man in front of him. He’s got deep bags under his eyes, a week-old beard on his face, and a sullen, sunken expression that ages him five years. Church thinks, this is right, this is what they both need.

The moment they meet each other's eyes, they’re on the same page.

Without a word, Washington steps into the apartment and has Church in his arms seconds later, pressing a hard, close-mouthed kiss to his lips as his fingertips travel up and down Church’s spine. Church’s hands find Wash’s hair - greasy, tangled, still unbearably soft - and pull. Wash groans and parts his lips, colliding teeth and tongues. Steadily, Church is walked backwards until he’s up against a wall, and he knows what to do from there.

He lets his knees go slack. Wash grabs his thighs with either hand and hoists him up, pressing Church against the wall and grinding his knee up against Church’s crotch. Church’s back arches with the familiar pressure. He can feel his body responding, as he moans. Wash pulls away from Church’s lips and lowers his head, digging his teeth into the sensitive flesh of Church’s neck, underneath the corner of his jaw.

Church cries out in both pain and pleasure, rutting against Wash’s thigh, hands scrambling to find a good grasp on Wash’s broad shoulders.

“Fuck fuck fuck  _ fuck _ ,” Church chants, pressing the crown of his head back against the wall, giving Wash room to suck and bite at his neck.

He’s angry, Church can tell. He’s angry, and hurt, and probably hates Church for asking him here. Church can tell in the way he grips his hips, pinning him to the wall hard enough that Church knows he’s going to bruise. In the way Wash breathes through his teeth whenever he pulls back to catch his breath.

In the way he, when Church moans again, nibbles at Church’s ear and says, “Well, I see you haven’t learned to shut up.”

And maybe Church is angry, but it’s more likely Church is desperate, when he breathes, “You know you love it.”

Wash laughs into Church’s neck, but it’s a bitter, gritty, awful laugh. “Fuck you.”

Church glares at him, grabs the back of his head, and kisses him hard and long. When he pulls away - lips red and shining with saliva - he says, with a sad, half-hearted smirk on his face, “Please.”

\--

In the morning, when Church wakes up, Wash is gone.

\--

**Five months.**

Church’s friends have started to ask about the round, red bruises that have found a permanent home beneath his jaw and along his collarbone. He waves it off, snaps that it’s none of their business, that he’s fine. He stops at the liquor store every other night and picks up the strongest thing he can, because nobody’s there to stop him. Nobody’s there for him at all.

Until late at night, when there’s a knock on his door. Then Church can pretend.

Unfortunately, Wash isn’t as good at pretending as Church is. When they finish for the night, Wash doesn’t even say goodbye. Just gets dressed and walks out. He never stays, even when he’s gentle. Even when he whispers sweet things in Church’s ear and strokes his hair while Church goes down on him.

“I know what this is,” Wash had said halfway through month four, after the fiftieth time. After Church had asked him to stay. “I’m not going to trick myself into thinking it’s anything different.”

Then he’d kissed Church’s forehead and left.

\--

**Six months.**

Church is on top of Wash tonight, kissing every inch down his naked chest, nuzzling his nose against his deep brown skin and chest hair. Wash’s breath hitches, his fist tightening in the sheets. When Church looks up, he sees Wash has swung a forearm over his eyes and is chewing his lower lip to pieces.

Quietly, Church crawls back up Wash’s body, delicately cupping Wash’s jaw with his hand and pulling his lip out from under his teeth with his thumb.

Church runs his thumb over Wash’s lip carefully, before lowering his head down and capturing Wash’s lips in a kiss. Wash makes a surprised noise in the back of his throat, that makes Church smile against his mouth. As they kiss, both of Wash’s hands trail down Church’s back, holding Church’s body flush with his and rolling his hips up for friction. Both of them groan into each other’s mouths, having to separate for breath due to the stimulation.

When they part, they make eye contact, and Church can see unshed tears shining in Wash’s eyes.

Curious and concerned, Church asks, “Are you okay?”

Wash inhales sharply and nods. Blinks. A tear escapes and trickles down the side of his face. Frowning, Church leans down and kisses Wash’s temple, where the tear is, tasting the saltiness on his lips. Then he rights himself and shimmies to the side, so that the lower half of his body is on the bed, and not on top of Wash.

“Why’re you crying?”

“I-” Wash tries, but his voice breaks and three more tears fall in quick succession. Church feels him try to sit up, so he rolls off of Wash and sits up as well. Wash digs his palms into his eyes and sighs, a grimace forming on his face.

“I can’t keep doing this.”

Church furrows his brow. “What are you talking about? I thought you were fine with this. Since you don’t want to get back together, I figured-”

“See, that’s-” Wash cuts himself off again with a frustrated noise. Then he takes his hands away from his face and stares at Church with steely, bloodshot eyes. “I  _ never _ said I didn’t want to get back together, Church.”

“Wha-” Church shakes his head and fires back, “You told me to leave!”

Wash looks stricken, but then shakes his head slowly. “Yes, I did, because you were being a piece of shit. But that didn’t mean I wanted us to just… be  _ over _ .”

“But-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Wash continues with the head shaking. “It doesn’t matter anymore. But if I’m ever going to move on, this needs to stop. Do you understand?”

“But Wash, I-”

“Just tell me-”

“No!” Church cries. “Listen to me for once in your fucking life!”

Wash falls silent with a hard blink.

“I don’t want you to move on,” Church says, feeling his voice waver. “I don’t want- I… don’t know what I don’t want. Or what I  _ do _ want. I just… I need you in my life. In some way or another. And I thought I’d fucked our relationship up so bad I could- I could at least have  _ this _ , but now you just said you don’t want us to be over and I… Wash… you  _ can’t _ move on.”

The way Wash looks is so sad, so heartbroken when he replies with that same bitter laugh Church has been hearing for months, “Don’t I know it.”

When they fuck that night, they both cry, and hold each other, and keep holding each other all through the night. Church clings to Wash like the lifeline both of them know he is, and Wash nuzzles into Church’s hair with a smile on his lips and a calm rhythm to his breathing that Church misses more than anything else.

\--

 

In the morning, when Church wakes up, Wash is gone.


End file.
